Philippe was her second man, her petite passion, her older experienced lover. She did not have much experience. They were, as the saying goes, in love with being in love. As much friends as lovers,” she said looking at me as if this explanation should mean something.“When Philippe died three months ago from a stroke she came to his funeral. I asked for you, and she said you were well. She told me that the last of the boys had moved out, and you and she were happy and still in love. I was happy for her even in my grief. I brought the painting since Philippe requested that she have it. I should have realized and given it to her then. It is magnificent, no?” she said looking at me for validation.I rose up walked forward, looking directly at the evidence of my wife’s complete betrayal.“It is very beautiful. He has captured her better than any photograph. He has her exactly. A beautiful whore,” I saidAvril gasped, “No! No! You must understand theirs was a thing of beauty, innocent love.. I had never thought that I would be so lucky as to get to fuck such a beauty. She had been a cheerleader through high school and her first three years at the same university which I attended. I had never been introduced to her until two months ago, even though I had watched her from afar since our freshman days when I first spotted her on the sidelines of a football game. I wasn't in the class of people that she normally associated with, like the jocks and Greeks (no, not the geeks, but the sorority and fraternity types).Admittedly I was a nerd, mostly a loner. Oh, I had a few friends and some of them were even females. I managed to get my share of pussy but it was different. Even the plain girls got horny sometimes and I was not unappreciative. Females, whether beautiful on the outside or not, were beautiful on the inside. It's just that I would have like to try one of those beautiful on the outside every once in a while.I guess if it had been up to me, I still would not have said.
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